Souls of the Lost
by GrimTheBanette
Summary: The skill of the mighty knight. The intellect of the clever sorceress. The faith of the wandering cleric. The loyalty of the blind thief. All would be tested, their fates intertwined. Can the bonds they forge stand against the strain of their quest? Or will they fall to despair and hollow away in the misery of their world? Rated M for language, gore, and possible adult content.


**Welcome to my first Dark Souls fanfic :D I am basing this mostly on my NG+ play through so let's have fun :3**

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The knight paced for what seemed the millionth time. Weeks had passed since he'd been tossed into the asylum…. Or had it been months? Years? He had long since lost track of the time. Pacing had kept him relatively sane. It had always been a habit, and the repetition kept him calm. He was ever aware of the moans of the hollows surrounding his cell, and the constant patrolling of the demon nearby. His corroded armor and tattered blue crest were now beyond recognition. That which had brought him pride, a beautiful set of armor crafted for him in the likeness of the legendary Artorias, now only left him with empty longing. The asylum was much too quiet and calm for him. His body was restless, and his mind screamed for the adrenalin of battle. Oh how he missed the thrill of the fight. Certainly battle was arduous, and far from honorable. Still though, it was better than rotting away quietly in this hell. As a knight, he looked to have an honorable death with blade in hand. But no. He had been stabbed in the back by a man who was nearly hollow. And when he had woken again, they'd locked him up and dragged him off to the asylum to rot. Ah, but thus was the fate of all undead. Destined to rot in the dark and dank until the world ended around them.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a new sound. The dull thump behind him in the cell was a welcome break from the monotony of his new life. Stealing a glance behind him, he was greeted by the sight of a corpse, its bony hands clutching an old key ring tightly. Glancing up, the knight saw the brief outline of a person. Judging from his armor, the other man hailed from Astora. The man gave a slight nod before disappearing from sight. The prisoner looked to the corpse, before striding over and collecting the rusted key. He pushed it into the lock of his door, turning it with an audible click. The door opened stiffly, groaning with years of disuse. He had been in that cell longer than he had thought. Slowly making his way down the hall, he spared a glance to the warden. The demon glared back briefly, its beady orange eyes seeming to glare into his soul. With a vague shudder, he hurried along. He stopped briefly, and for some uncontrollable urge he smashed a nearby hollow's head into the wall as hard as he could, blood splattering down the stone as the corpse crumpled to the ground. The knight breathed deeply, feeling the energy of souls flow into him. Satisfied with his 'victory', he continued on his way. He stopped to murder two more hollows before climbing a ladder into a courtyard, smiling slightly as the sun graced his features for the first time in ages.

Sweeping his gaze around the small space, his eyes landed on a blade nestled into a small pile of bones. Approaching it, he reluctantly reached a hand forward. From the bones erupted a fire-like essence that crept along his body, invigorating his tired and weakened body. Turning hesitantly from the fire, he approached the looming double doors, and with a mighty effort forced it open. Stepping into the partially ruined building. As he approached the opposite side, The second warden, whom he had neglected to remember, crashed down in front of him. Unarmed and faced with impossible odds, the knight had no choice but to flee. Dodging around the demon's wild swings with its hammer, he leaped with a roll through a small door. He heard the gate crash shut behind him, and in slight relief he continued down the small stairway. Lighting another of those peaceful fires, he trekked forward, and barely avoided being shot in the stomach with an arrow. He quickly ducked into a side room to avoid the hollow's volley. Noticing a corpse nearby, he ripped the tower shield from its arms and, holding it in front of him, he rushed down the hallway. The hollow attempted to flee, but the knight quickly smashed his new shield into its brittle body. It fell to the ground and attempted to crawl away, but its struggles ceased when he flattened its skull beneath his boot.

Retrieving his great sword, again modeled on Artorias' own, from the corpse of a guard, he marched on through the asylum. As he approached the second floor, he was forced to leap off of the stairs as a boulder barreled toward him. The stone smashed through the wall and, curiosity taking over, he followed it through the hole. He found the very knight who had saved him laying on a bed of rubble, obviously having been knocked through the roof. Sheathing his sword and strapping his shield at his back, the ex-prisoner approached his savior.

"…Oh you… You're no hollow, eh?" The Astoran said as he turned toward the newcomer. "…Thank goodness…" He attempted to rise, but fell back with a groan. "…I'm done for I'm afraid. I'll die soon, then….lose my sanity…" He continued.

"Perhaps I could help?" The escapee began. He was reluctant to let his savior die. The Astoran simply shook his head.

"I simply wish to ask something of you… You and I, we're both undead… Hear me out, will you?" The soldier nodded in agreement, and the Astoran continued. "Regrettably, I have failed my mission. But…perhaps you can keep the torch lit? There is an old saying in my family. 'Thou who art undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the undead asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords. When though ringeth the bell of awakening, the fate of the undead thou shalt know'…. Well, now you know…and I can die with hope in my heart… Oh, and one more thing… here, take this… an undead favorite." The knight held out a small emerald flask, which the prisoner took graciously. "Now I must bid farewell… I would hate to harm you after death… so, go now… and thank you." The prisoner nodded gently, and went to leave.

"May I know the name of my savior?" He asked quietly. The night nodded with a faint chuckle.

"I am Oscar, of Astora." Oscar replied quietly. The prisoner nodded softly, and smiled wistfully.

"Well Oscar, I am William…also from Astora." He rested a hand on Oscar's shoulder comfortingly, before continuing on. William drew his blade, continuing forward and hacking through the hollow's in his way. Stepping through an open archway, he glanced down at the face of the Asylum warden. Fury flowed through him, and taking his sword in both hands, he leapt forward, ready to rip the demon a new one.

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**So, good? Bad? Should I give up and go sit in a corner? Leave your thoughts in a review :D**


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